I feel beat,
I must be discreet,
Do what I’m told,
Even if I’m old.
I wish I could quit,
But I’m stuck like this. . .
FOREVER
Soon they come,
Tear this place apart,
This will all be destroyed,
And you will wish that I was there,
To clean up the mess.
Your city in ruins,
Because you didn’t treat the Visigoths right,
They beat us to it,
But it was a job well done,
Couldn’t have done it better,
Should’ve treated us better,
But now you make your own bread.
We had to be beaten,
Now you see that even though sticks and stones may break my bones,
Words do hurt,
And so do clubs.
Enjoy.